


The Chase

by Psychopersonified



Series: Kidnapped!Q [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Action!Bond, Established Relationship, M/M, chase scene, kidnapped!Q for real, this is gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Next instalment of the Kidnapped!Q series. Q gets taken for REAL this time.Blow by blow account from Q and Bond's pov. Think of this as one of the major action sequences in a movie.---Q’s weekly self-defence classes with the rest of Six’s administrative staff does little prepare him for what comes next.What follows is the roughest and most invasive manhandling he has ever had to endure; dispossessing him of any illusion of empowerment those classes might have imbued in him. Those tactics might work with a random mugger out for spare change, but incapacitated and faced with a determined team of professional thugs and yourself as the prize - they do very little...---
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Kidnapped!Q [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782712
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Action! episode so there isn't as much banter. Told mostly from Bond's POV.
> 
> \----
> 
> I've borrowed heavily from the movie SPECTRE but this isn't a fix it. The plot is entirely different though some themes remain. You might find me poking fun at the movie at different points as well.
> 
> This arc is written in a TV series format, each instalment is an 'episode'. So I apologise if its a little confusing at times with flashbacks to provide context. I thought it would break up the monotony of a slow building 'novel' style writing. Hopefully it works.
> 
> If long story arcs are not your thing, I have other light hearted series that can be read as standalone stories on my dashboard.

**London, Notting Hill - 9pm**

Bond is back in London twelve hours later. Agent Chalmers and Spot (the cat) greets him at the door of his Notting Hill flat. Chalmers with her gun to his face and Spot with a much friendlier full body rub. It’s late, but he gives her the option of going home if she wants to. She gladly takes it and the bag of cinnamon pretzels Bond bought at the airport. He had given another bag to the officer on duty outside before he came in. 

Jellicles comes trotting into the living room shortly after and both cats remind him vociferously of how much they miss him. He’ll admit, it fills a certain emotional void to be appreciated like this. He’s glad to see that the cats have adjusted to their temporary lodgings in Bond’s bachelor pad. Until they can sort out the case of Q’s attempted kidnapping, the four of them are not allowed to return home to Q’s flat. Speaking of Q, he is nowhere to be seen. 

He finds the great and glorious Shadow Overlord already sprawled in bed asleep - sleep cycle muddled by the long hours of the last few days. There is a tablet on the pillow beside him, glasses folded on top of it. Bond silently turns on the bathroom light for a quick shower, the cats trailing after him to supervise. 

When he’s done, he slides into bed, moving the tablet and glasses somewhere safer. Q stirs, yawning indulgently. “Flight good?” he mumbles, shifting over to make room.

“Hmm…” Bond hums his affirmation and then sighs in contentment as he sinks into familiar smelling bed clothes and bed partner. Q snuggles up to him, seeking his warmth. He reciprocates by sneaking a warm hand under Q’s pyjama top, caressing along his side and back, craving skin contact. 

The cats take up their usual positions at the foot of the bed. Despite the awful events of last week and the adrenaline of the latest mission, all residual tension seeps out of Bond. _This moment is bliss_. _Pure unequivocal bliss._

Several long affectionate kisses later and they both fall asleep, neither having enough energy to follow through tonight. The reality of spy life can be a lot more mundane than what the brochures make it out to be. But those are his favourite days. 

* * *

**London, SIS HQ - Next day, 2pm**

Mark and his team are monitoring the progress of the Shadow AI as it makes its way though $PECTRE’s network. Q had unleashed the AI as soon as they gained access and it was now steadily propagating into every node of the peer-to-peer network it can find. 

Each new link it finds appear as a grey dot in the web and once claimed, turns blue. But unlike the poorly protected localised hotel system, it will take more time to subvert a network so large and well defended - and there are theoretical limits to how far it can reach (combination of computing power and network complexity). 

Even then, the amount of information they have gained access to so far was overwhelming. They went from drips and drops to a breached dam overnight. That in itself presented a huge conundrum; sorting the important from the irrelevant. They risk information overload at this point. 

The irony was not lost on Bond; Felix thought it would take years to build a case without their help - at this rate, it would take years just to sort through the tangle of information without assistance. 

“It would help if I knew what you were looking for specifically,” Mark speaks up after hearing 007 sigh for the umpteenth time in the last forty five minutes. 

“If you’re looking to trace transactions, it will take time for the AI to make sense of the blockchain and sort it all out into neat spreadsheets. You won’t find it in the emails,” Mark continues, looking for some guidance as to what 007 wants. 

Bond is not interested in the transactions at the moment. That information will be shared with the FCA and other relevant agencies to take the appropriate actions against the investors for financial fraud (money laundering, embezzlement etc.). Unless the payments were made to obtain illegal services like bomb making, weapons dealing, kidnapping, assassinations or various other terrorist activity - they don’t fall under his purview. 

His most pressing concern is the attempted kidnapping of MI6’s Quartermaster and he’s certain Sciarra is involved in some way or other. Bond has been alternating between scrolling through the man’s emails and pacing impatiently in front of the large bank of screens in the Ops Room. Sciarra’s email headers were inconveniently cryptic which made trying to find anything relevant about as easy as winning the lottery. 

He’s tried the amateur route, searching the headers for ‘Collin Mitchel’, ‘MTech’ and other keywords relevant to the Q’s cover. Nothing. That’s as far as his IT skills went.

Time to be a lot more deliberate about this. Bond thinks back to when this uneasiness started. Was it in Geneva when they met Kim Min Jun? Or further back when they found out about Timothy Hayden’s compromised phone?

“Mark, remember Hayden’s security breach? Weren’t the hackers looking for a list of personnel? Can you bring up that list?”

“Yes a list of personnel with cryptography, encryption and programming qualifications. The hackers made it seem like Hayden was asking for a project team he was about to put together. HR obliged unwittingly,” Mark calls up the list and broadcasts it to the main screen. Twenty or so personnel names are on the list, mostly IT and Q-Branch for obvious reasons. 

Q is on the list but he is listed as ‘Q’ as dictated by their internal protocols. No other unique identifiers; unless you consider his list of academic qualifications. An unusually long list: PhD in Computer Science (Encryption), Masters in Mechanical Engineering and Applied Chemistry and a BSc in Biotechnology - the list does not state from which university, but Bond knows enough about Q to know. 

That niggling worry starts up again. Bond’s ice blue eyes dance back and forth over the screen, more thinking than reading - his spy senses tingling.

“Do a search of Sciarra’s email for this list and then for Cambridge or Imperial College London.”

Mark does as told. Lo and behold: 15 hits. 

First email as Bond suspected contains the same list HR sent Hayden. _First link confirmed_ \- Sciarra was behind the breach. 

Next few emails were about looking into a research paper on ‘Data Protection and Proof-of-Work Failsafe Protocols’ written by a Benjamin Michaels and several other coauthors from Cambridge University. Sent from ‘chimera@’ - the user name sent chills down Bond’s spine; Raoul Silva. 

Sciarra picked up on that lead and had someone compile all the information about Benjamin and his coauthors from both universities and then cross referencing the information. Benjamin was the only author to have degrees from both. They had his academic records, all his qualifications and combined it matched the mysterious personnel with the moniker ‘Q’ in MI6. _Second confirmation._

Finally, the most recent relevant email, this one to an unknown recipient contained a folder of photo and video files and a single line of text.

First jpeg was a digital record of a university ID card with a picture of Benjamin Michaels, even younger than he is now but still clearly recognisable. 

The second jpeg is a candid picture taken during their $PECTRE ICO mission in Geneva, of Collin Mitchel in what appears to be a party setting - sitting next to Kim Min Jun, both their attentions on a tablet in Kim’s hands. Agent 008 Marcus Park is lounging nearby, watching the proceedings. 

Third is a shot of Collin Mitchel’s business card for MTech R&D Consulting, contact information only lists an email and a phone number, no address provided - Bond recognises it as the card Q gives out to vendors and contract manufacturers. He must have unwittingly given it out or had it taken from him in Geneva (copious amounts of alcohol was involved during the party). 

Subsequent jpegs appear to be reconnaissance photos taken after Geneva. Bond is certain, because Q is wearing a new set of glasses (Mark confirms it with the metadata from the files). There is one taken in front of Tintagel House (MTech’s usual rented meeting space), another one in the tube station. Last is a video file, and the most upsetting. A shot of the street and building in front of Q’s flat; Q struggling with a large bag of groceries and a shoulder load of dry cleaned suits. _That’s how they knew, they bloody followed him home._

Finally, the accompanying simple email text that sums up the entirety of their detective work _::B.M = Q = C.M._ _MI6_ _::_ _Third confirmation._

 _-SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.-_ Cold dread seeps into his bones.

“Oh God...” Mark gasps catching on as well. 

Bond reaches for the nearest phone, already dialling Q’s lab extension number as he instructs the room, “His cover is blown. Until we make him a new one, he can’t have contact with anyone on the outside. Pull 008 out as well!”

Nish stands up suddenly, nearly tipping over his chair, “Q and Jamila are over at Tintagel meeting with a new vendor right _now_.”

Bond slams down the receiver. “Get hold of Chalmers and Coyle. Tell them to bring them back here asap. Who’s the new vend—“ Bond doesn’t get to finish his order.

Ops room is interrupted by an urgent flashing alarm on screen: Agent Chalmers’ panic button.

Seconds later the whole secondary screen go wild as one notification after another rolls in. Q, Jamila, Chalmers and Coyle: All four smart watches register a sudden spike in accelerometer, decibel and heart rate readings. 

“Security cameras. Tintagel House. NOW!” Nish yells assuming command for Active Ops. 

—-

**London, Tintagel House - 200m from SIS HQ.**

**Level 1 Conference Room**

Q & Jamila sit down with a representative from the new supplier. The company cold contacted MTech several months ago and were downright insistent; though oddly enough they’ve postpone the meeting several times before finally settling on today. MTech is always looking for component vendors and they particularly liked the smaller ones with specialised capabilities as those vendors were more willing to accommodate their unique requirements and small volume purchases. Q hopes this won’t be a waste of their time. 

They are accompanied by his newly acquired shadows, Agent Chalmers and Coyle as instructed by 007 whenever Q needs to leave HQ without him. 

The group waits as the rep from the vendor sets up his laptop, preparing to introduce the company through the tiresome medium of a corporate video. A necessary evil that usually entails 5-10 minutes of over produced footage, cheesy narration and nauseatingly upbeat stock music - the objective of which is to convey how wonderfully sophisticated and capable the company is to the client. 

As their attentions are focused on the video playing in the darkened conference room, the rep quietly leaves. Agent Monica Chalmers feels uneasy. Something doesn’t sit quite right with her. She gestures to Agent Peter Coyle, signalling she’s going to follow the rep out. 

As soon as she slides the conference room door shut, it clicks in her head. The entire floor is quiet. Too quiet. She walks around, checking the other office spaces. Empty. No one is around and now that she thinks about it, she does not recall seeing anyone at reception either. 

Further in the back, she spies a group people mingling about near the toilets. All men and not the usual office types either. Rough looking the sense of rugby player builds, clad not in typical office wear but nondescript dark blue maintenance overalls. Their mannerisms are tense, no jocular conversation as one might expect from workers taking a break. Suddenly one of them notices her studying them and alerts the group. 

- _Fuck.They need to get out now!_ \- She hits the panic button on her standard issue smartwatch, draws her weapon and runs back towards the conference room. Just six feet away she sees the room light up and the glass door cracks as two consecutive loud bangs rock the conference room. Chalmers falls to the ground. 

—

**_Inside the conference room…_ **

The laptop explodes first, sending plastic shards blasting outwards, smashing into the water carafe and tumblers arranged in the centre of the conference table which in turn shatters - spraying them with glass. The bulky leather folio goes next, charred paper and leather flying in all directions. 

The shock sends all three of them hitting the deck. Jamila’s scream barely registers over the ringing in his ears, she was sitting closest to the laptop.

Time stretches for Q. His vision is blurry and he’s lying disorientated on the carpeted floor. He can feel bits of loose debris all over and around him. It is only long seconds after that he understands - the bright flashes in the darkened room has temporarily overwhelmed his photoreceptor cells, blinding him for a few seconds. His glasses have been knocked off too and he gropes around for them.

On the floor, he feels rather than hear Agent Coyle get up and leave the room. What follows is the the telltale pop of gunshots, sounding oddly muffled - likely from the hearing damage. Then more breaking glass, crunching and banging noises as a heated fight breaks out just outside the room. 

Q finally finds his glasses and the extent of the damage becomes clear. The room is a mess. Jamila is on the ground a few feet away covered in cuts and bleeding from her ears; ruptured eardrums likely. 

Outside, more banging and then the partition wall of the conference room shakes violently as something heavy is thrown against it from the other side. The bookcase unit on this side of the wall tips over - decorative books, plants and knick knacks rain down on them. He rolls under the table just in time as a heavy vase comes crashing down onto the spot he was lying in; it shatters next to his head. 

The solid conference table stops the bookcase from completely falling over flat, sparing Jamila from getting crushed underneath it. Q tries to get up; to get to Jamila and pull her under the table too - but is hit immediately with a wave of severe disorientation like his body isn’t sure which way is up or down and he collapses. The close proximity stun grenades likely caused a fluid imbalance in his ears. What he really needs, is to lie there until the sensation passes, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

Three men barge into the room, boots crunching glass underneath - and makes a beeline for him. He is yanked out forcefully from under the table, picked up and slung into a fireman’s carry. All the sharp movements exacerbating his disorientation and making him feel nauseous. 

Last thing he sees before they put a black bag over his head is Jamila lying in a sea of glass and debris struggling to get up. 

—-

**_This is Going to Hurt…_ **

The crash of the heavy door against the wall echos through the concrete space. Q recognises the smell of rubber, exhaust and oil telling him that they were in the parking garage. 

He is thrown face down into he back of a utility van, shoulder connecting painfully against the floor. He can feel the textured metal flooring against his cheek. 

Q’s weekly self-defence classes with the rest of Six’s administrative staff does little prepare him for what comes next. What follows is the roughest and most invasive manhandling he has ever had to endure; dispossessing him of any illusion of empowerment those classes might have imbued in him. Those tactics might work with a random mugger out for spare change, but incapacitated and faced with a determined team of professional thugs and yourself as the prize - they do very little. 

He is stripped of his jacket and jumper and someone pats him down, further removing his watch, wallet, keys and ID - he’d already lost the phone in the blast. Then he is unexpectedly flipped over onto his back and pinned down, another thorough frisking - the belt goes, as does his shoes and socks. 

A hand runs over the front of his trousers and grabs him roughly between the legs to make sure nothing is missed. Q kicks out instinctively but his ankles are held down as are his wrists. The fear crests and he can’t hold back a whimper, he has never felt so physically overpowered in his life. 

Next, his shirt tails are pulled out of his trousers and he feels a needle jab into his side. _NO! No! No!_

Someone straddles his chest, the heavy weight keeps him from rising. Then the bag over his head is removed, his glasses are taken and a meaty hand clamps over his lower jaw, forcing his mouth open. The man on his chest pulls out something from a pouch on his belt - even with his blurry vision, Q recognises it as a pair of dental pliers. 

“I suggest you keep _very_ still, wouldn’t want my hand to slip,” was all the warning he was given. The tang of metal hits the back of his mouth, as well as the salt of the man’s skin against his tongue and he has to fight the urge to gag, tears stinging his eyes. _SHIT!_

He felt the crack of the false left molar and dared not breathe. Q knew what they were doing. The molar and the cyanide capsule hidden in it was carefully removed. The taste of blood fills his mouth. 

Then the pressure on his chest lifts as do the hands pinning him down. Q rolls over onto his side and desperately spits out blood as well as the taste of metal and the man’s skin. 

He wants to get up, throw his full weight against his assailants and make as much of a fuss as he can to stall. But the drug they’ve given him was working fast, his head starting to spin and his muscles non compliant - seconds later he is out cold. 

—

**_The Chase…_ **

Bond makes the 200 meter sprint from HQ to Tintagel in record time. Just as he passes under one of the windows, it shatters with the force of something being thrown at it followed by gunshots. By the time he makes it up the stairs to the usual first floor conference room, the fight is over. He finds Jamila crawling through debris from under the conference table, Coyle in the next room unconscious (hopefully not dead) and Chalmers peeling herself off the hallway floor with a badly bloodied nose. 

“The back stairs! GO!” She yells at him, voice distorted by her injuries. Bond takes off without hesitation. Monica can handle helping the others. 

He hits the bottom stairs to the garage and bursts through the door just in time to hear a van door slide shut. The sound echoes through the concrete space making it difficult to pinpoint. But Bond knows it has to exit the garage though the boom gates and heads directly for it. 

The unmarked white van screeches as it exits the garage and merges seamlessly into traffic. But then in an unepected twist, the van crosses two lanes of traffic and makes a U-turn at a Texaco petrol station and back into traffic which will take it past the SIS HQ Building. 

The manoeuvre takes up precious time, but gives 007 a chance to intercept. London traffic is an unexpected ally. The van just barely makes it 100 meters from the Texaco and has to stop at a traffic light; right at the very doorsteps of the SIS building. Bond weaves though the queue of cars sneaking up the side of the van to get to the driver’s side. 

When the driver notices 007, he rams the van into the line of cars in front in an effort to clear the way. When that doesn’t work, he cracks open the door to fire a shot off at 007 right in the middle of mid-afternoon traffic. The hurried shot misses, shattering the window of a nearby car- but it gives 007 the opening to grab the driver’s wrist and yank him out. His mistake for not putting on his seatbelt. 

Driver and Bond have it out on the street right between lanes of traffic. The lights turn green, and traffic starts to move - cars trying to get out of the way, honking at each other and at the men fighting. It is not until when 007 has Driver pinned to the hood of a nearby car that Driver fires off more shots, spraying indiscriminately, that the situation turns into pandemonium. 

People start abandoning their cars, others drive onto the pavement and oncoming traffic. Security from MI6 finally pour out.

Bond neutralises the driver, separating the gun from him and throwing him to MI6 security to deal with - just as his companions abandon him. One of the assailants exit the back of the van to take over the vacated driver position, slamming the door shut just as Bond tries to grab the edge of the door. He has to quickly move his hand or risk loosing fingers. 

Bond is undeterred, hanging on to the large side mirror and wedging a foot into the running board as the van starts to peel away. It takes him three tries before his elbow breaks through the window. 

The van swerves as it takes a sharp left under Vauxhall station, and Bond just about looses his grip - centrifugal force nearly throwing him off.

After they exit the underpass, the van makes a sharp right onto South Lambeth Road. Bond grapples with the driver for a moment, getting a few good punches in. 

The driver tries to scrape him off by driving up against cars parked along the street. A parked delivery van looms ahead and Bond has no choice but to jump off or end up smeared on the side of the van like an insect. He lands on the hood of a parked taxi, breaking his fall.

He tries to resume the chase on foot. But traffic in front clears and the van takes off. Behind him, sirens blare. Black Jaguars shoot out from under the Vauxhall underpass, but leading the pack is a familiar dark silver DB10. The DB10 skids to a stop next to him while the Jags race past. 

Bond flings himself across the hood to the passenger side and throws himself in, coming face to face with a familiar profile. 

“Seems like we’ve done this before…” Eve quips grimly as she floors the accelerator to catch up to the pack. 

They catch up in no time. The chase now proceeding westward on Nine Elms Lane. Up front, Bond watches as an agent in one of the Jags lean out the window taking aim. He can barely hear the shots over the roar of the V8 engine, but pockmarks suddenly appear on the sides and rear doors of the van. _The bloody idiots!_

“Hold fire! Hold fire until we can get a clean shot,” Bond hisses emphatically into the comms,“We risk damaging the asset inside the vehicle.” 

Being shot at renews the vigour of the chase. Somewhere along the stretch in front of the US Embassy, the van unexpectedly swerves across a low median onto oncoming traffic and then back again, attempting to put more distance and cars between their pursuers. The Jags pull back, unsure how to proceed; if they should antagonise the driver into further acts of reckless driving. 

Eve takes the opportunity between breaks in the traffic to weave the DB10 right to the front of the pack. The road narrows by the time they get to Battersea Park Road and traffic slows slightly. 

Van driver is having none of it, driving up pavements and medians; creating his own path. Pedestrians leap out of the way, outdoor cafes get demolished and at one point they cut off a bus, forcing the bus driver to pull an emergency stop - standing passengers are flung off their feet. Not presented with any other alternative, Eve follows in the van’s destructive wake as best she can. 

Traffic slows further on York Road just before the Range Rover dealership - Bond calculates that several well placed shots to the rear tyres should hobble the van. The automatic guns on the DB10 would cause too much collateral damage in this packed urban situation. He’s about the lean out the window when the van suddenly swerves right at the lights, diving into a side road leading towards the Thames. 

Bond realises where they are headed. “They’re going for the Heliport next to Crowne Plaza.”

Eve misses the turn due to oncoming traffic and has to take the next one further down. That should bring them to arrive at the Heliport in the opposite direction to the van; and that is exactly what happens. 

Bond leaps out of the car even before it comes to a halt. The van is empty - parked in front of the emergency vehicle access gate. Behind the gates, the whine of rotor motors increase in volume.

The low security fencing around the heliport is no barrier for 007 and he pulls himself over the fence with ease, sprinting across the helipad just as the helicopter door shuts. 

It starts to take off almost immediately, the rotor-wash making it impossible to get too close. It is too dangerous now, surrounded by buildings, the nearest of which is barely 30 meters away - if he tries anything, the pilot may crash into any one of them. 

In a moment of unprecedented restraint... Bond backs off. 

In his ear and barely audible over the rotor noise, Nish passes along the message, “007, M has authorised the use of lethal force. Asset is a national security risk to be retrieved… at all costs.” Code speak for _dead or alive_. 

“What?!” Bond can’t quite believe his ears.

“Shoot the pilot!” Mallory orders him. Bond surges forward but the rotor-wash makes it impossible to steady his aim. 

He squeezes off a shot anyway. But it goes wide, piercing one of the windows and Bond thinks he sees red splatter on the inside, the helicopter continues to rise. - _Fuck!-_ He has no idea who the bullet hit. 

The helicopter lifts off, downforce so strong it knocks Bond off his feet. Even on his back with dust buffeting his eyes, he takes another aim. He’s just about the send in a second shot when the helicopter turns just enough for him to see - strapped to one of the rear seats, head lolling and unconscious is Q - the familiar pattern of his oxford shirt instantly recognisable between the dark blue overalls flanking him. 

The sight takes the wind completely out of his sails. He simply can’t risk a second shot, not under these conditions. Bond has to watch with impotent fury as the helicopter quickly disappears out of sight eastbound. 

“Status 007,” Mallory demands. 

Bond takes a few seconds to answer, “Negative hit on the pilot. Helicopter due east. Can we track it?” 

“We’re doing what we can. Return to HQ 007.” Mallory instructs. 

——TBC——

Before you go to the next chapter, please read the [Triangle Sandwiches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994048) series. It runs parallel and will join up with this series in the next chapter. It won't make sense otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don’t have to do this obviously; but it might be fun just to try. 
> 
> 1\. On Google Maps, search for directions from Tintagel Office Group to London Heliport - take the route that goes past the SIS building in Vauxhall (unlisted building but can be seen on the satellite image). I'll post the screenshots in the next chapter link.
> 
> 2\. Now get ready to follow the chase! Alternating between map and street view. 
> 
> Did you have fun?
> 
> \------------
> 
> Before you go to the next chapter, please read the "Triangle Sandwiches" series. It introduces a character that will become important to the storyline. This was an experimental format... sort of like a TV series, I was trying to preserve the suspense at the time. "Triangle Sandwiches" is a flashback to a few weeks prior, before we continue with the current timeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t have to do this obviously; but it might be fun just to try. 
> 
> 1\. On Google Maps, search for directions from Tintagel Office Group to London Heliport - take the route that goes past the SIS building in Vauxhall (unlisted building but can be seen on the satellite image). 
> 
> 2\. Now get ready to follow the chase! Alternating between map and street view. 
> 
> Did you have fun?


End file.
